


Tactile Language

by MistressKat



Category: due South
Genre: First Kiss, Hugs, M/M, Tactile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 18:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13300470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: Ray hugs a lot.





	Tactile Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wagnetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagnetic/gifts).



> Written as a fandom_stocking gift for Wagnetic. I hope this hits your fic likes for hugs and ‘thank god you’re alive’ scenes…

Ray hugs a lot.  
  
To be fair, he uses a lot of other types of touches as well: shoulder claps, hip checks, high-fives… If touching was a language, Ray would be a native speaker.  
  
Fraser… Fraser feels like he’s stumbling his way through the beginners’ class. And failing.  
  
At first he just stiffens, unsure how to respond, not quite able to get what Ray is saying. When he figures out this is how Ray communicates, well, everything from ‘be careful’ to ‘good to see you, buddy’ he tries to reciprocate. It’s only good manners, to learn the language when you’re visiting a new country. The metaphor isn’t that far-fetched, at times Fraser feels as out of depth with Ray as he did when he first arrived in Chicago.  
  
Then, at other times, he feels so completely at home it’s close to treason. Those times usually involve one of Ray’s hugs.  
  
Ray hugs like he does everything, with all of his heart, all of his strength, and without any pretence.  
  
Really then, given all of that, it’s no surprise that Fraser starts to actively seek out Ray’s hugs. To say that he’s orchestrating situations where he puts his life at risk in order to have Ray wrap his arms around him, voice tight and relieved on ‘that was close’ or ‘you crazy Mountie, how many times I’ve told you…’ Well. That would be an exaggeration.  
  
Perhaps not a _gross_ exaggeration though, he’ll admit to that much.  
  
It just so happens that if Fraser sees more than one way of, say, tackling the suspect of the roof, or pulling someone out of a burning car, he may just pick the one that seems riskier. Alright, sometimes _is_ riskier. For him, never to anyone else.  
  
It’s a viable strategy.  
  
For a while.  
  
Then, on an otherwise wholly unremarkable Tuesday, Fraser decides that surprising the suspect from above would be well, more surprising. Which is understandable, considering their suspect lives on the sixth floor.  
  
The upstairs neighbours are accommodating, the balconies are close together, the weather is not too bad by Chicago standards… So all in all, it’s not even that dangerous.  
  
That is, until Ray – who was supposed to stay safely on the ground – drops onto the suspect’s balcony after Fraser. On itself, that is also only mildly concerning. However, the fact that the suspect comes out swinging with an honest god broadsword and forces them both right back on the windier side of the balcony railing, is a genuine problem.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Fraser near shouts, trying to get past the blade and grab hold of the man wielding it.  
  
“Doesn’t feel so nice from this side of things, huh?” Ray snaps, sneakers scraping against the balcony.  
  
“What?”  
  
“All these stupid stunts you’ve been doing!” Ray has no inhibitions against shouting. “You got a death-wish or what?”

There’s a clang as the sword comes down between them and both of them end up hanging one-handed for a while. Fraser’s heart skips a beat or twelve, watching Ray flail about until he gets his other hand back on the railing. For the first time in a long time he remembers what fear feels like.  
  
The suspect – although the sword makes a convincing case for promoting him to a perpetrator – grunts, bringing his arms up above his head, ready for another swing.  
  
He never makes it.  
  
There’s a shot and red blooms over his shoulder, the sword falling out of his suddenly numb hands, over the railing and straight down.  
  
“What’s out!” Ray screams at the people in the street although luckily they are too busy gawking at a Chicago detective and a Mountie hanging off a building to be in any immediate danger.  
  
The uniforms, who Ray had called for back-up and who had shown up with perfect timing, pull the two of them back on the balcony. Only ten minutes later, they are back on firm ground. Literally, but not metaphorically.  
  
Ray is furious. There is no ‘than god you’re alive’ hug coming, Fraser can see that. He’s also pretty sure that trying to give one of those himself would not be welcome right now. Which is a shame, because he really, really wants to haul Ray in by his jacket and just… Never let go.  
  
The get to the car in silence, drive to the station in silence, and head to the nearest empty supply closet in silence.  
  
Alright, so the last leg of the journey involves Ray forcefully shoving Fraser in but he’s not going to make a big deal of it right now.  
  
“Ray, is everything... alright?” he asks after the silence stretches by a few more minutes, the two of them just standing there, cramped together amidst the cleaning supplies.  
  
That seems to do the trick.  
  
“Alright?! Is everything…? Oh, just freaking hunky dory, man!” Ray looks seconds away from pulling at his own hair. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been watching you act like you’re invincible? Like nothing could hurt you? When it only takes one slip…” He folds down from the middle, hand on his chest like he’s having a heart-attack. Fraser’s hands hover uncertainly over Ray’s back for a moment before tentatively patting down.  
  
Ray straightens back up, slowly and not dislodging the grip Fraser has on his jacket now. It means they’re almost hugging by default, but not quite. “What the hell are you doing?” Ray asks. “I know you’re not stupid so… What, you don’t trust me to watch your back?”  
  
“What?! _No_ , no, that’s not it, I…”  
  
“Then what? Christ, you almost died again today! We _both_ did!”  
  
“I _know_ ,” Fraser says, fervently, urgently, his heart still in his throat, and right now Ray could come up swinging but nothing is going to stop him from pulling his partner into a bone-crushing hug. “Please don’t do that again,” he mumbles into the warm curve of Ray’s neck, so close that he can feel it when Ray swallows.  
  
“If you promise the same thing,” Ray says, voice gruff.  
  
Fraser nods shakily. Then he takes a risk that’s more dangerous than anything he’s done on the job, last few months included. “What if I do this instead?” he asks and pulls back just enough to brush his mouth against Ray’s.  
  
Everything freezes for a few heart-breaking seconds. Then Ray exhales shakily, his fingers curling into Fraser’s hair, tight and perfect, and he pulls him back down. “Much better,” he whispers.  
  
Ray’s kisses, it turns out, are as perfect as his hugs, and communicate even more than his other touches do. Fraser doesn’t think he’ll ever be as fluent as Ray but that’s okay. He’s going to enjoy the lessons regardless.


End file.
